


Burning Matches

by Savageandwise



Category: Music RPF, Oasis (Band), Real Person Fiction, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fandom crossover, Gallaghercest | Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher Incest, Infidelity, John Lennon/Paul McCartney mentioned, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: Never has Noel ever tripped over a Beatle legacy kid at a party.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher, Noel Gallagher/Mary McCartney
Comments: 20
Kudos: 34





	1. Noel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whereitwillgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereitwillgo/gifts).



> This fic started last March when I saw this photo of Noel and Mary standing next to each other on pinterest.
> 
> https://savageandwise.tumblr.com/post/640146901121040384
> 
> It was perfect. Mary McCartney, Paul's firstborn looking like a goddess and Noel being...Noel. They looked really good together! So I showed my friend @whereitwillgo and she agreed with me (of course...she loves all things Mary) so I wrote this for her. ♡ 
> 
> It took me a while to write it but I finally did. Let me know what you think. I do realise they're not a typical ship. But 
> 
> I'm dying to do more crossovers with the Beatles because I mean...it's sort of meant to be...

Sometimes people hid the good stuff in unexpected places to keep party guests from finding them. Noel once found an expensive old cognac in a bathroom cupboard, right there next to the shampoo and a dildo shaped like a dolphin. 

This party was terminally dull. Some geezer, Bertie Someone-Or-Other, was throwing a huge do at his mansion. The word on Bertie was that he was a bit like Noel himself, really, a bloke from modest means who made a lot of money very suddenly. He couldn't recall what the business was, something dull like non-stick pans. Bertie was swimming in it, so he bought himself this house, and maybe a few others in key locations around the globe. He threw ridiculous parties like this one, hoping to buy his way into the in-crowd. 

Originally Liam had whined and moaned that he wanted to come tonight. That was always a huge mistake. Liam might have the ability to spice these sort of things up but he also had the ability to turn the most innocuous event into utter carnage. Thankfully, hours before they were supposed to meet, Liam had decided he'd rather stay in, watch telly with his missus. They'd had a huge row about it even though Noel was frankly relieved Liam changed his mind. In the end he'd hung up on the string of abuse Liam screamed at him down the phone-line. He'd come with Meg instead. Meg was a royal mess, they both were—eating garbage, drinking hard, living like pigs. That was his life now, touring and partying and dealing with Liam.

Meg had been partying with Sadie for two days solid and hadn't slept a wink. She made it about thirty minutes before falling asleep in a potted rubber plant. He stuck her in a taxi and sent her home. He supposed he really ought to have gone with her but maybe he was feeling a touch resentful. Maybe he thought he deserved a night out alone for once. Maybe he felt like his whole life seemed to be standing by while other people made fools of themselves. Maybe it wasn't really about Meg at all, it was about Liam and how unreliable he was. If he was honest with himself, most of the time when he got into this mood, it was about Liam. He didn't feel like being honest, he felt like being drunk.

After sending Meg home, Noel wandered through the house in search of the kitchen, determined to find that secret stash of fancy booze. He recognised some familiar faces, some of the people from his own set, some hangers-on who seemed to come to every party. Kate Moss had her arms around some girl's waist, she blew him a kiss as he passed her. He was starting to think he ought to have marked his way with breadcrumbs when he came to a black door with frosted glass windows. He opened the door and entered the room. The lights were off and Noel could barely see the end of his own nose but he decided not to switch them on, he liked the clandestine feeling of snooping around in the dark. After bumping into a little metal and glass serving trolley, Noel gave up and turned on the spotlights under the cabinets. He could now see what he'd already suspected, he'd found the kitchen and it was fucking huge: black granite floors sprinkled with gold, glassy as the surface of a frozen lake, black lacquered cabinets, one of those floating island counters where you could eat breakfast, lots of chrome. It wasn't too different from Noel's own kitchen, really. Except his kitchen counter was covered in ashtrays and empty glasses.

He was casually opening the cupboards, taking time to admire the fancy glassware. It looked like none of it had ever been used. It didn't look like he was going to find anything in here but then he thought there might be something on the top shelves. He tried to pull himself up onto the strip of counter that wrapped its way around the kitchen—more granite, more chrome—but he lost his balance and stumbled over something...someone stretched out on the floor, next to the fridge. It was a woman, her ankles crossed like she was lounging on a beach chair instead of the kitchen floor. He noticed her feet first: high-heeled strappy shoes. She had on a short, black, shiny sort of dress. The fabric reminded him of Geisha girls, it was covered in Oriental-looking flowers. She was clutching a bottle of mini gherkins. When he tripped over her, she made a sound like an upset cat. 

"Oh...sorry. I didn't see you there. I needed a glass of water," Noel said vaguely. "You know...you could have said something when you saw me enter...it's only polite."

"But this is more interesting. Looking for the good stuff, were you?" she said, giving him the once over. "Bertie doesn't keep it here. He's sneaky."

She set the jar of gherkins down beside a tiny clutch bag and some sort of lacy jacket and got up, opened a door beside the dishwasher that turned out to be a sort of broom closet. Well, he supposed that's what it was meant to be. When she switched on the light he saw it had gleaming metal shelves boasting row upon row of cleaning products, labels all facing forward like Rainman's wet dream. There was a state-of-the-art hoover and a bouquet of brooms and mops that looked more like modern art than cleaning tools. The woman reached behind the row of bleach bottles and pulled out a bottle of rum that looked like it once belonged to Blackbeard. It had a cork and a peeling gold label.

"This is the good stuff," she said, pressing the bottle into his hand and beaming proudly.

Noel just stared at her. "How did you know it was there?"

She shrugged. "My dad told me."

"Who's your dad?" he asked. "Do I know him?"

She showed him her profile, waited a beat while he squinted at her and did a double take. How could he have missed it?

"Fucking hell!"

The hazel eyes, the dark hair, the narrow nose. She was the spit of Paul McCartney. 

"Not too quick, are you?" she smirked. "And I heard you're the clever one."

"The clever one?" Noel said, grabbing two glasses and pouring a measure of rum into them.

Noel couldn't tell if she'd recognised him or not. Sometimes they didn't know him without Liam.

"You're one of those Gallaghers...Liam?"

"Noel," he corrected her, a frisson of irritation rippling through him. "You're…"

"I'm Mary."

He handed her one of the glasses and sunk down onto the floor beside her.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mary. What are you doing sat on the floor in the kitchen? Isn't your bum frozen solid? Hiding from someone, are you?" Noel asked, questions tumbling out like coins from a slot machine.

She took his hand and placed it squarely on the floor. It was warm. "Heated, pretty luxurious...we had to wear every jumper we owned during winter on the farm in Scotland."

She tilted her head at him and knocked back the rum cleanly.

"I wouldn't say I'm hiding exactly...I'm just not in the mood for partying," she said. "How about you?"

Noel narrowed his eyes at her and then swallowed down the rum in his own glass. He let out a sigh, this rum was excellent. "Jesus Christ."

"Right?" She laughed. "Hit us up again, Noel Gallagher."

He poured another shot of rum into her glass and then his own.

"Thought you're not in the mood for partying."

Mary shrugged, looked down at the granite floor, running a finger along a vein of gold in the stone. "This isn't partying, it's drinking. Dad brought me here, thinking it would cheer me up...it's a long story, really."

"Is this a good place to not party?" Noel asked.

"Yeah. It's the second kitchen...everyone is in the main kitchen. It has a freezer full of ice cubes. This is just so Bertie doesn't have to walk forty days and nights if he gets hungry in the middle of the night," Mary explained. "You didn't answer me, by the way. What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Noel thought about it for a while. "Looking for the good stuff," he said at last at her through his lashes and smiling.

Mary didn't look convinced. She stared at him, dark brows raised, looking exactly like the female version of Paul Fucking McCartney. Then she smiled and it took his breath away.

"Not really feeling sociable," Noel admitted at last, swirling the drink around in his glass. "It's not important."

They sat there side by side in silence for a while. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Noel wondered how best to get her to talk about the Beatles without seeming like an insane fan. Finally he decided it was easiest to just be honest.

"So…" Noel said slowly. "What's it like…?"

"Being the daughter of a Beatle?" Mary finished for him. She sighed heavily. 

Noel knocked her foot with his. "Sorry. Do-over. Stupid question."

She grinned at him, a cruel light flashing in her eyes. "What's it like being Liam Gallagher's brother?"

Noel laughed uncomfortably. "You didn't even know which one I was five minutes ago."

She leaned against the wooden cabinets behind them, then rolled her head dramatically to face him. 

"I knew you're the songwriter one. He's the one with verbal diarrhoea, the pretty one. And you're always beating each other up and cancelling gigs."

She had him there. Noel turned away in search of the bottle, made a big show of opening the cap.

"Hey," Mary poked him in the side with one finger. "Are you sulking?"

"No…" Noel said sulkily. He poured himself another measure of rum.

"Bertie's going to have a fit," Mary said with a smile. She held out her glass for him to refill.

"How do you know Bertie?" Noel asked.

"His name's not even Bertie," Mary said.

"No? What's his name? Albert or summat?"

"Andrew."

Noel laughed nervously. "Andrew? That's not...what? Is it a surname?"

Mary shrugged and picked up the bottle of gherkins, opened it and pulled one out. She popped it in her mouth and chewed contentedly. Noel wrinkled his nose.

"His surname is Jones or something. No idea…"

"Bertie…" Noel said mystified.

"Yeah," Mary said. "Yeah."

"So, you've known him awhile?"

"Well, Dad does. Bertie gives loads to charity. He's not a bad sort, really. Dad knows him from one of his pet projects. Anyway...he has a lot of money. He can spare one bottle of rum."

"We can put some water in the bottle. He won't notice...at first. Liam did that with me Mam's gin when we still lived at home."

"What happened when she noticed?" Mary asked, grinning.

"She boxed his ears."

"Bertie won't box our ears...he'll probably blame Dad, though."

"I wouldn't want that," Noel said. "Your dad is always lovely every time I meet him."

"Lovely to you, maybe..." Mary said, her tone sharp. "He can get fucked."

"What's he done, your dad?" Noel asked carefully. 

Mary shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

They fell silent again. The rum was going to Noel's head. He thought about Meg, too drunk to stand, all her things spilling out of her handbag before she got in the taxi. He thought about the shouting match he'd had with Liam before coming here tonight. No matter what Paul McCartney had done to earn Mary's disdain, it couldn't be half as bad as anything he and Liam did to each other on a regular basis.

"It's shite," Noel said after a long while.

"What is?" Mary asked.

"Being Liam Gallagher's brother."

She nodded. "Family...can't live with 'em...can't shoot 'em, eh?"

"Alright," Noel said with a sigh. "This is what we're going to do, right? We're going to forget about...family and stuff and whatever made us come into the kitchen to be alone during the party of the century, right? We're going to...to...to drink the rest of Bertie's fucking rum...we might as well now...and then find something to distract ourselves."

"Like a game?" Mary asked. 

"If you like."

Mary considered this for a moment. "Is it a drinking game?"

"It can be, yeah…"

"Never have I ever," she said.

"You what?"

"You say for example...never have I ever...done drugs in Paul McCartney's house. And since I have...I drink…"

She took a drink of rum and winked at him.

"Alright...well...I never...um never have I ever...been skiing."

"Skiing?" Mary asked, shaking her head. "Is that the best you can do?" She took another drink. "Never have I ever...gotten a tattoo."

Noel held on to his glass, shook his head. 

"Really? I thought you'd have one...some girl's name in a heart in a private place…"

Noel snorted. "Definitely not. Um...never have I ever...fallen in love at first sight."

Mary looked at him levelly. She poured a measure of rum into her glass and drank it down. "Never?"

"No...never...not at first sight. No…"

"I think you're lying," Mary said. "In fact...we should lie...if you're lying you drink."

"I don't think that's how it goes, we'll be dead drunk in under ten minutes! Besides, you're not meant to have done it. That's why you say 'never have I ever'."

"Just ask me something, Clever Gallagher," Mary said impatiently. "It's more fun this way. It seems like you haven't done anything fun and I don't want to be the only drunk one."

Noel rolled his eyes at her. "Right...but it was your turn."

"Never have I ever been thrown out of a bar or club," Mary said. She took a drink of rum. 

Noel looked at her quizzically and held out his glass for a shot.

"Yeah...long story…something to do with my brother James and Sean."

"Sean?" Noel asked, taking a sip of rum. "Sean Lennon?"

"No...not a well-mannered sip. A full-on shot," she instructed him. 

"We'll run out!" he protested.

"God, you're prissy. Has anyone ever told you that? There's more where this came from...a whole cellarful."

"Looks like you've an agenda, right? Looks like you're trying to get me drunk."

"You're already drunk, lightweight. Besides, it's your agenda. You said you'd distract me."

"Fine. Never have I ever nicked something from a shop," Noel said. He poured some rum into her glass and double the amount into his own and then slurped it down. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Mary said, draining her glass. "Never have I ever…never have I ever gone skinny-dipping."

Noel covered his glass, Mary drank a shot.

"Never?" Mary asked, her eyes sparkling. 

"I can't swim," he admitted.

"It's not about swimming. It's about prancing around in the water in the nude."

"Alright...might have done in me youth."

"With a girl?"

Noel felt his cheeks burn. "With Liam," he said shortly.

"That doesn't count. I spent my whole childhood running around naked with Heather and Stella and James."

"Running around…" Noel started. Fuck if he wasn't imagining Paul McCartney's daughter and Liam naked, prancing about in the water. 

"You're bright red!" She laughed. "Running around on the farm...Mum used to say we might as well keep our clothes clean. We were always falling into mud, chasing cats and chickens. Eating berries and getting the juice everywhere."

"Sounds idyllic," Noel said, thinking of Longsight and his dad's vegetable patch. Not being allowed to come in for tea until every weed was pulled. "What else did you do on Junior's Farm?"

Mary gave him a little wink for his song reference. "We were Dad's audience. There was music all the time. What about you? Music from an early age?"

Noel scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. "Yeah...um...me Dad...Dad was a country music DJ. He used to play weddings and that. Used to drag me along to carry his records."

He used to ignore Noel while he did his set, thirsty and starving and begging to go home, until he crawled under the tables and drank the dregs of someone's pint.

Mary was looking at him like she was waiting for him to go on.

"And um...summers in Ireland...you know...what you'd expect. Uncles and Aunties all bringing along an instrument. Playing into the night."

"Sounds idyllic," Mary said. "Sounds like you got a head start."

Noel shrugged. "I got something," he mumbled.

"Go on," Mary said after a moment. She was smiling at him so brightly it chased away the memories of his childhood. "It's your turn, make it a good one!"

He liked her smile, it was genuine. "Never have I ever...had a threesome." 

He poured a generous shot into his glass and drank it in one go. She held onto her glass. 

"With a girl? Or just with Liam?" she asked, sticking out her tongue.

He stuck his tongue out at her in turn. They started at each other's tongues for a moment and then started to laugh. They were going to kiss, he'd figured that out already, he just didn't know if he wasn't enjoying the chatter more.

"Not with Liam...Very funny...Two girls, it was…" Noel admitted. "It wasn't really that exciting, to be honest."

"Not very exciting, eh?" Mary smirked. "Never have I ever...hooked up with someone of the same sex…"

She took the bottle from him, drank straight out of it. Noel took the bottle back hesitantly. He looked down, flustered. "I mean…"

"Christ, the look on your face, Noel...it's a party game, not a police interrogation. I said it's okay to lie." 

He lifted the bottle to his mouth and swallowed a large gulp defiantly.

"Never have I ever had a one night stand," he said, setting the bottle down. 

She gave him the strangest look, her hazel eyes wide and earnest, her lips quirked comically. Then she shook her head. She wanted him to kiss her now, he thought, his stomach doing little flips. The zing of attraction between them was delicious. He wanted to draw it out, like pulling a rubber band to the breaking point and letting it snap against your skin. He grabbed the bottle and took a swig.

"Of course you have," she said with a laugh. "A different girl every night on tour."

He shrugged awkwardly. "Even before then...you go out on Friday. You saved up all fucking week for it. Go to the Hacienda. Dance all night with some bird who's up for it and then…" He smiled, remembering. He wondered if she liked dancing. He'd like to see her on the dance floor.

"Sounds romantic," Mary said dryly.

"You must have been very sheltered," he offered. "Growing up on a farm?"

"Not really...I went to school with everyone else. Dad thought it was good for us...of course there was some pressure not to get the wrong sort of reputation...considering who Dad is...though, Stella never seemed to care. I always had a serious boyfriend."

"Nothing wrong with that. It gets boring...sleeping around…"

"Does it?" Mary asked. She took the bottle from him, her fingers lingering on his before she pulled it out of his grasp. "Never have I ever cheated on my significant other," she said.

He tipped back his head and sighed. He had never been sure of the answer to this question. Did Liam count? Was he cheating on Meg with Liam? Liam was just Liam. He held out his hand for the bottle. 

"Mary?" someone called out from the hall. "Are you here?"

Mary scrambled to her feet. "Come on…" she hissed. "In here…" she pulled Noel into the broom closet and shut the door behind them. 

"Little dramatic, innit?" Noel whispered.

"Shh."

"Mary?" Paul McCartney's voice rang out. He sounded close now. "Your bag is here on the floor and your umm...jacket thing… so you can't be far...You can't stay cross with me forever, you know."

Mary switched off the light. The closet was actually quite spacious, but she had manipulated him against the wall into a space that was hidden from immediate view should Paul open the door. There was something digging into Noel's back. He couldn't help think it was like they were in some stupid chick flick. This was the part where the girl's father finds them pressed up together in a closet, and before you know it, the male lead is fleeing in someone's Bentley even though he can't drive. And they hadn't even kissed yet. The girl and the male lead. Not the male lead and the father...though, honestly...would he really say no if Paul tried it on? They hadn't kissed because Noel had been waiting for the perfect moment. In his head the perfect moment didn't involve her father on the other side of the closet door.

Mary put one arm around Noel's neck awkwardly. Her hips were flush against his, she squirmed against him, and he wasn't sure if she was making a move or just trying to get comfortable. There was a sudden tap on the door and Noel jumped slightly. Mary put her hands on his hips like she meant to soothe him, achieving the opposite effect.

"Darling...are you in there? Come out and talk to me," Paul wheedled. 

"Go away, Dad," Mary hissed. 

God, there was no way Paul would leave the door closed now. This was a farce. 

"Mary...don't you think you're being awfully childish hiding in there? I know you think I'm making a mistake but I'm only thinking of your mum. Please, try to see it my way."

 _We can work it out_ , Noel thought, stifling a giggle. He tapped his fingers on Mary's arm like he was playing the appropriate chords.

"Not coming out," Mary said stoutly. "Go away!"

Maybe it was best to just walk out calmly, act like nothing was going on, because nothing was going on, except that he was uncomfortably aroused. He shifted slightly, hoping she wouldn't notice. Mary's breath tickled his ear. She shifted slightly. "Never have I ever…" she whispered and slid her hand over his crotch.

He sucked in his breath. This was ridiculous. He was hard beneath her hand, she ran her fingernails over his erection playfully. He could feel her chest rise and fall against his. And Paul McCartney was right outside waiting for his daughter to come out.

"Well...if you're sure," Paul said.

Mary's mouth was on his throat. He turned his head to run his lips against her temple.

"I'm sure. Piss off!" Mary said. "I'm busy."

Noel slid a hand over her hip awkwardly.

"Alright. As long as you're having fun and not just sulking," Paul said.

Mary's dress was slippery smooth, Noel let his hand travel upwards, his fingertips soft under her breast. She leaned into him and all at once her breast was cupped in his hand.

"Piss off, Dad!" Mary said again.

Noel was considering calling out to Paul McCartney telling him to piss off himself because Mary's fingers had found his zipper and he couldn't think anymore. All he knew was that this was taking forever and it felt like Paul was doing it on purpose. Mary's lips were on his. Noel opened his mouth and she slipped her tongue in. He slid a hand up her thigh, up under her short skirt, his fingers brushing the edge of her knickers. Her hips tilted forward, she pressed into his hand eagerly. Noel dared himself to stop. Dared himself to be sensible. His fingers slipped under the edge of her knickers. When he felt how wet she was he almost lost his mind. This was crazy. In his wildest dreams Noel could never have imagined he'd be in a situation like this and he'd been in plenty of crazy situations in his life. Most of the time it was because of some hare-brained idea of Liam's.

"I'm going home now, Mary. If you want to talk...please, just wake me up, love," Paul said. 

Mary squirmed a bit, rubbed herself against his fingers. She had worked his zipper all the way down and pressed her hand to his dick through the cotton of his boxers. No sound from outside. Maybe he'd left.

"Mr. Gallagher," Paul said all at once. "Please make sure she drinks enough water. I did quite like your last single. Very Beatley. The ‘na na na’ bit...very ‘Hey Jude’."

Noel couldn't help gasp out loud at Paul's words. He tried to pull away from Mary, but she just kissed him harder, her teeth grazing his lower lip. She was laughing under her breath, laughing into his mouth.

"Bye, Dad!" she called out.

Noel was frozen in place, his fingers still hooked under Mary's knickers. He heard the door shut after a few moments, but that didn't necessarily mean Paul was really gone. Noel counted to ten.

"I think he's gone now," Mary whispered.

"Mmm," Noel said doubtfully.

"He's gone!" Mary insisted.

She reached down and pushed his hand harder against her and after a while he figured they were probably alone because he couldn't hear a thing outside. Noel slipped his thumb against the folds of her cunt. He couldn't do this here, he realised, he needed to see her. Wanted to put his mouth on her and taste her. He wanted to lock the door so they wouldn't be disturbed.

"Mary…" Noel started, pulling away. "Stop…"

"Did he scare you?" she smirked. "Tough lad from Manchester, but my Dad says a word and you fall all over yourself."

She was wrong, he might regret it later but right at this moment Noel didn't give a damn about Paul McCartney.

"Fuck your dad," he gasped. "I just want to...to...to fucking get out of here and...and fucking...I just want…"

"What do you want?" she asked, rocking against him.

"You know what."

She sucked in her breath, unlocked the door and pulled him out along with her. Noel fell forward, gripped her face between his hands, kissed her hard.

"We ought to...lock the kitchen door," Mary said between kisses. "Unless you fancy another threesome? Bertie...Kate Moss, perhaps? I wouldn't say no to you and your Liam..."

Noel's hands were at the zipper on the back of her dress. He pulled it straight down. "Liam wouldn't say no to a Beatle legacy kid."

He walked her backwards to the door, and fumbled for the key in the lock, turned it once. The door was secure. He pushed her up against it. She was taller than he was in her high heels, but he was used to it. The glass was frosted, they could probably be seen on the outside, at least the outline of them. It was good enough for Noel. It would have to be.

"Is that what this is? The closest you can get to fucking a Beatle?" Mary said sharply.

He gripped her chin in one hand, looked at her for a moment. "No."

Then he kissed her mouth and then pulled down her dress to kiss her bare shoulder. She wasn't wearing a bra, and he bent his head to suck on her rose-coloured nipples. And shit, he wanted her. 

"No?" she asked, pulling open his belt, working the button on his fly open. The zipper was already open, his stiff dick peeking through the slit in his boxers.

He worked the dress down over her hips. "I didn't know who you were at first, did I?"

"So, you wanted to fuck me when you first tripped over me? Before you realised?"

Noel slid down her body, knelt before her and pressed his mouth to the elastic of her knickers. He looked up and shrugged, grinning cheekily. He pulled at the elastic waistband, let it snap against her skin. 

"What did you think when I tripped over you?" he asked, rubbing his thumbs into her hip bones.

 _"Shit,"_ Mary breathed. _"It's one of those Gallaghers…"_

He slid down her knickers slowly while she squirmed impatiently.

"What do you think now?"

"God, Noel...please…"

He put his lips against her cunt, kissed her there. She let out a whimper of lust. Noel slid the tip of his tongue against her wetness and she put her hands in his hair. He looked up into her flushed face and smiled. Then he fucked her with his mouth until her knees buckled, and shivering, she slid to the floor, pulling him down with her. She grabbed hold of the waistband of his trousers and boxers and pulled them both down past his hips. Then she reached for his cock, her touch was gentle, maybe a little hesitant. He leaned down to kiss her mouth, her taste all over his lips. She guided him against her wet cunt, and groaning, he pushed all the way in smoothly, too excited to wait a second longer. She put her hands on his arse, pressed him hard against her.

"Make it rough," she murmured. 

Ah, fuck. His hips slammed against hers, her nails bit into his buttocks. This wasn't what he expected. God, she was something. Her flushed face, her sweet mouth, long dark lashes. She was gasping for breath, arching her back. Then all at once she rolled over onto him, pressing him into the floor. The floor was hard but at least it was warm. He had slipped out of her and was suddenly desperate to be inside her again. She crouched over him, impaled herself on his hard dick again, moved above him, finding the rhythm she wanted. She put her hands on his chest, his shirt had fallen open and she curled her fingers into the hair there. Noel angled his head upwards, put his mouth against hers, his breath coming in little gasps. Mary slid off his dick, almost all the way off, and then slammed down again and he was spilling into her cunt, moaning into her open mouth. 

After, she lay slumped on his chest. Her dark hair had come loose, and he played with it absently, twisting a strand around his index finger. His back hurt and his arse was probably bruised but he didn't want to move. She felt too good sprawled on top of him. Eventually she rolled off of him, jammed her hand between her legs. Noel spied his come dripping down her pale thigh, the sight almost got him hard again. Then it hit him. They hadn't thought to use a condom. 

"Ah fuck," Noel said, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe off his dick.

Mary was sort of hopping towards the double sink. She wet a paper towel and mopped herself off.

"What?" she asked.

He told her what, a feeling of icy dread spreading through his intestines. This was stupidity worthy of Liam, and even Liam knew to stick a few condoms in his pockets just in case. 

"Oh...I thought that was just the plan...A baby! Just imagine the eyebrows!" she said blithely.

He must have looked absolutely petrified because she gave him a wicked grin. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm on the pill."

"There are other things to worry about…"

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Mary said, frowning.

It was too late now, anyway, Noel decided in the end. Mary seemed like a sensible girl until now. This wasn't sensible at all.

She climbed up onto one of the tall bar stools and looked down at him. He pulled up his trousers and walked over to the cabinets, pulled out a bowl that was presumably meant to be used for muesli. That would do as an ashtray in a pinch. 

"I'm dying for a cigarette," he admitted when she gave him a questioning look.

He sat down next to her and pulled out his cigarettes.

"Me, too," Mary said. "But I shouldn't."

"Bertie wouldn't like it?"

"Fuck Bertie, my mother's dying. I sort of promised myself I wouldn't," she said in a dull voice.

"Pardon?" he asked, startled.

"Cancer," Mary said after a while. 

"Christ…"

Mary crossed her legs. She reached down to adjust the strap on her shoes, they were biting into her ankles. Noel leaned down and ran a finger along the red marks on her skin.

"I suppose it won't hurt her if I smoke one," Mary said after a while.

Noel hesitated, shook two cigarettes out of the pack and stuck them in his mouth, lit them both and handed her one. She took it gratefully.

"I don't know what to say," Noel said awkwardly.

"It's fine," she said, waving his words away. "I mean...that's life, eh? That's what the fight is about. With Dad. They say it's spread. She won't last long now, and he doesn't want her to know. I shouldn't even be here...I should be with her...but he didn't want us to change our plans and upset her."

Noel sucked on his cigarette and considered that. "He doesn't want to burden her and that."

"It's her fucking burden," Mary said shortly.

"I reckon you're right."

"I know I'm right. It doesn't matter why he thinks he's doing it. It's not his decision."

He closed his eyes, took a deep drag off his cigarette and exhaled slowly. "Hard enough losing your mum," he said at last. He wasn't good at these sorts of talks under normal circumstances, let alone post-orgasm. "...without all the extra stress."

Mary nodded, leaned in and put her head on his shoulder. Her nose was cold against his collarbone.

"You smell so good," she murmured. 

"Do I?" Noel laughed uncomfortably. "I'm not even wearing aftershave.” 

"You do," Mary said. "You're not what I expected."

"You were expecting a football hooligan who doesn't know what a shower is for and smells of Lynx Africa."

"Cigarettes and groupies."

"You've got me confused with Liam."

"At first. What's he really like?" 

"Liam?"

What's Liam like? Noel considered this for a moment. Impossible, irrepressible. His.

"Very honest. Very loyal. He's a cunt...you know...but then he'll give you his last shirt."

"You remind me of Dad...talking about John Lennon."

He was too flattered to speak. He took her hand, kissed her wrist bone. Then something occurred to him. "You better not tell Liam that. He'll never shut up about it."

"Bit of a hero worship thing going on there?"

Noel rolled his eyes. "You have no idea. Did you meet him? John Lennon?" He couldn’t help himself, he had to ask.

"I did. I can't really remember him. Heather has more memories. She says he was a sweetheart. What I do remember is that Dad was different around him. Like they spoke another language. Like they were a different species."

"My missus says that about Liam," Noel admitted. "She says she doesn't recognise me when we're together."

Mary studied his face. "She doesn't like it when you're together?"

Noel shook his head. "She'd umm...she'd never tell me to stay away from him...but…" he shrugged. "Maybe I am a bit of a hooligan around him."

"Where's she tonight, then?" Mary asked. 

"Sent her home in a taxi." Noel stubbed out his cigarette in the bowl and looked away, embarrassed. "I'm a fucking idiot."

Mary took hold of his face and tilted it towards hers. "No, don't...I knew you were married," she laughed. "If it makes you feel better I have a boyfriend...a...fiancé."

"Where's he tonight, then?" 

Mary pressed her mouth to Noel's abruptly. "Not here."

"You're not having second thoughts, are you? Because I'm not…" She kissed his jaw. "...you're very good at distracting me."

"No second thoughts," Noel assured her. "None. Well...maybe...some small thoughts regarding Meg..."

"Guilt?" Mary asked seriously.

Noel shook his head. He didn't want to think about that part right now. "Not because of...not...um...She was fairly out of it when I sent her home...maybe I should've gone with her, like."

"Why didn't you?"

Noel shrugged awkwardly. "I didn't want to...sometimes...sometimes...I…it doesn't matter."

Mary butted his head with her own, like a cat. "You have to tell me now. I told you about Mum."

"Maybe when we met...when we met, right? We were just high all the time and then...well, I've given up mostly...and ...without...without...without the coke…maybe I...maybe we...Maybe I don't...Maybe I just married her because I thought I had to."

"Why would you have to?"

"Liam married Patsy...I just reckoned...I reckoned I ought to…"

"Liam got married so you had to…" Mary laughed.

It wasn't really funny. He remembered the searing jealousy and hopelessness he'd felt when Liam called him to say he'd done it, he'd married Patsy. He hadn't even invited him. At the time he'd been too angry to think it through but now he understood, Liam couldn't have him there. He couldn't do it with Noel there. When he married Meg in Vegas, Liam didn't show. He remembered thinking, ah...that's this marriage fucked, then.

Noel shrugged. "I'm five years older," he said, as if that explained everything.

Mary narrowed her eyes. "You love him very much," she said. 

There was something in her voice that made his chest hurt. He pulled his shirt back on, buttoned the collar wrong. All at once he was aware of how he must look to her, puffy and coarse, blatantly working class while she was Rock and Roll royalty.

"And he loves you," she added.

"I suppose," he muttered. 

"I understand. Because that's how I love Stella. Like she's an extension of me. Like...if you cut her I bleed."

"I don't know that's true," Noel said cautiously. 

Half the time he wasn't sure he did love Liam. He needed him, that was true. Liam was his. The only person in the world who was entirely his. He didn't think Mary McCartney understood. It wasn't about love at all.

"I think it's something to do with the sort of childhood you have," Mary continued. "Not being able to count on the adults in your life."

"The sort of childhood you had...and what childhood was that?"

He bristled slightly. His arse was sore from fucking on the granite floor and sitting on this barstool. He slid off it and sank back down to the floor, stretched out his legs and leaned his back against the island counter.

"Fuck me, those things are uncomfortable. Like a fucking medieval torture device!" Noel exclaimed. 

She laughed softly and disappeared on the other side of the island for a moment before she joined him on the floor now wearing that short lace jacket he'd seen earlier.

"Sexy," Noel said, running his fingers over the lace. "Not sure this will keep you warm, though." 

"What were we talking about?" she asked him. "Oh, childhood…"

He drew his knees up to his chest. He didn't think he and Mary McCartney had that much in common as childhoods went.

He looked down at his dishevelled clothes. He hadn't bothered to zip his trousers and Mary looked like a pornstar, naked but for her lace shrug and high strappy heels. He didn't want to adjust his clothing though, he already felt like such a prude for pulling his trousers up.

"Always on tour. Mum and Dad were on stage or on T.V. or, I don't know...it was a good childhood, I suppose. We were free to be ourselves. But we had to share our parents with the whole world. That changes how you view them."

"Well...the whole world is welcome to my dad. The cunt. But maybe you're right. I didn't even like Liam when we were kids. But he was there...he was..."

"Yours," Mary finished.

Noel nodded briefly. She stood up and grabbed his cigarettes off the counter, then sank back down and put her head on his knee, stuck a cigarette between her lips.

"Light it for me?" she mumbled.

"Fuck no, you'll drop it in me lap, singe me balls right the fuck off," Noel said firmly.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," she giggled girlishly, clicked his lighter demonstratively.

"I am! I…" he broke off abruptly. "Mary, sit up. I still need those testicles, right?"

She reached up, stuck the unlit cigarette between his lips. "Better check."

She rolled her face into his crotch, licked at the hair there. Then she took one of his balls in her mouth and sucked on it gently. Noel exhaled sharply, shut his eyes and let his hands flutter to the top of her head.

"Fuck me," he murmured, aroused and terrified.

Mary spat out his ball delicately, raised her head and smiled at him. "Mmm. Very nice testicles. You know they're a delicacy in some parts of the world?"

He spluttered in protest, cupped his hand over his genitals. "Jesus Christ, woman!"

"Oh, calm down. I'm a vegetarian! Everyone knows that!"

"You're not funny," he said sulkily. He poked at her ribs.

She rolled off him and stumbled to the sink, grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap, drank from it thirstily. 

"Such a delicate flower," she cooed.

He flashed her two fingers and looked around for his lighter. When he looked back up Mary was leaning on the counter moodily. 

"What happens now, Noel Gallagher?"

He lit the cigarette and took a drag. "You could give me your telephone number." 

"Could I?" Mary asked, flashing him a small smile. 

"In case you ever...ever...um...need...a...you know, a cigarette…"

He stood up, held the cigarette out to her. She took a drag and exhaled up towards the ceiling.

"And I'd...what? I'd call you and say, hi, Noel...this is Mary, you know, Mary McCartney. I know it's late but I'm dying for a smoke. Could you drive over? Bring me one?"

"I can't drive," he admitted ruefully. "But I'd, you know, steal a bicycle. I'd walk. I'd swim the Thames."

"God, you're such a romantic," Mary laughed softly.

"I fucking wrote ‘Slide Away’ and ‘Wonderwall’. Of course I'm a romantic."

She plucked the cigarette from between his lips and stubbed it out in the muesli bowl. "Alright, then." 

Mary pulled him closer and kissed his mouth, tenderly at first and then increasingly hungry.

"Alright?" he asked between kisses.

She nodded, slid her hand under his shirt, curled her fingers against his skin. He put a hand on her elbow, spun her around and kissed the back of her neck, pressed himself against her bare arse. He was hard again, lightheaded with the sudden urgency that ripped through him. Mary stretched her arms in front of her, knocked over her glass. Water pooled on the granite surface of the counter and under a stack of glossy magazines and a large fancy bowl of fruit. 

Mary let out a shivery sort of breath. "Like that," she murmured. 

Noel fumbled with his trousers, dropped them hastily, rubbed his stiff cock against her. He pushed aside the lace jacket and put his hands on her breasts, pushed her forward against the countertop, and she pushed back against him. She was only a little taller in heels and bent forward like this, they fit perfectly.

He rocked against her teasingly and she slipped a hand behind her, fumbled for his cock. She was a little clumsy, her breath huffing out with impatience. She let out a soft low moan, wriggled against him as pushed into her slowly. He wanted to savour it this time. Wanted to feel her all around him, slick and warm. Mary wasn't having any of that. She said his name once, low and strangled, and reached back awkwardly to grip his arse. In the end he fucked her in short, rough thrusts, his knees trembling, his breath coming hard with exertion.

He came in a rush, cupping her breasts and slumping over, pressing her into the counter and cursing himself for not lasting longer. He looked up at the wall. There was a clock hanging there, something that looked like it belonged in a prison or hospital. It was past three in the morning. Beside the clock was a huge framed poster. Monet, Degas, one of those geezers. 

After a few moments Mary shook him off her, rolled to one side. He reached over to stroke her breast through the lace of her shrug, thumb worrying the knot of her nipple. His heart was hammering in his chest, he wanted to tell her something about what he felt right now. He was probably just drunk. On rum and sex and her. He didn't know how to put that into words without sounding idiotic. He pressed his lips to her throat.

"Next time I'll make you come," he murmured against her skin.

"Next time?" Mary said, curling against him. "Bold of you."

Of course that was when there was a knock on the door.

"Mary...he's left now...you can come out…" a woman called through the door.

"Stella," Mary whispered, covering her mouth to hold back the laughter.

She grabbed a bunch of paper towels by the sink, shoved them between her legs and then tossed them in the bin. She scanned the floor in search of her dress. When she found it she slipped off the lacy jacket, dropped it on the floor and pulled on the dress. She turned, gestured for him to zip it shut. Noel did so, then he looked down at the buttons on his shirt and did them up properly.

"Leave the first buttons," Mary said, leaning forward to kiss his chest. "Sexy."

"What are you doing in there?" Stella asked. "Go on...let me in, you slag…I can see you...you and...someone..."

Noel barely had time to do up his trousers before Mary unlocked the door and pulled her sister in. The two sisters were as different as night and day. Stella wore a sapphire-hued pantsuit with what looked like nothing underneath the jacket, her light brown hair hung loose around her face. Noel wondered if she looked like Linda, she didn't really look like Paul.

Stella gave him a quick once over and then grinned. She looked like a good time. Or maybe that's just what Kate said about her. 

"Isn't he just your type, surly and Hibernian and those eyes…Liam?" Stella asked.

"Noel," he said shortly.

"Not the one with four GCSE's?" Stella asked.

"No, that's…" Noel began.

"The brother, Stella...keep up…he's the songwriter..."

"Oh, yes! I remember!" Stella exclaimed. Any second now she was going to start singing "Wonderwall".

"So…" she twinkled at Mary. "Look at her all flushed…Mary's got a crush."

Mary glared at her sister. "We should get you home, Stella. You look high enough to fly there."

Noel just stared at them, his cheeks burning, utterly charmed. Stella bent down and picked something up off the floor, waved it like a flag. Mary's knickers. Now she did hum "Wonderwall". Noel thought she was horrible and wonderful.

"Mary...I'm appalled!" Stella sang. "You know Dad was probably lurking at the door for ages!"

Mary grabbed her knickers and shrugged. "I don't care. The man fucked half the world in the ‘60s."

"And John Lennon," Stella added. 

"Shhhh. You don't know that…" Mary hissed.

"What's this?" Noel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh but I do! I do know! Sean told me! He and James are convinced."

"Sean is an infant…" Mary protested. "So is James."

He couldn't imagine ever talking about his parents like this. In fact, he still found it mortifying Tommy and Peggy had ever been intimate.

"No, really…" Noel started. "What's all this about, then?"

His mind was spinning. He wondered how he could get them to spill these secrets.

"No," Mary said firmly. "Stella...get your coat."

"No fun," Stella pouted. "You just want to be alone with your new friend."

"Get your coat, Stella!" 

Noel made a mental note to ask Stella about John and Paul next time they met.

Stella leaned in, kissed Noel full on the mouth. "Don't be a stranger."

Then they were alone again. Mary rubbed at the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

"Lipstick," she explained.

"So," Noel said slowly. "Say you'll ring me? I have a lot of...of...of cigarettes. I'm fucking stockpiling them in case of the...you know...the apocalypse."

"I said I would," Mary said. She looked down and then into his eyes almost shyly.

He slid his hand over her waist. It felt as though something had changed. They were strangers again. He leaned forward to kiss her and then paused. The door was unlocked, anyone could walk right through it. 

"You need to...um...you need to give me your number first," Mary pointed out. "Or I can't ring you."

They searched around for a pen and eventually found one stuck in the fancy fruit bowl amongst the bananas. He wondered why there was a pen in the fruit in an otherwise flawless set up. He decided it was because a higher power wanted him to give Mary McCartney his number, not that he believed in a higher power. He wrote his number on her arm like they were teenagers at the disco. He wanted to ask her for hers but he didn't want to seem pushy. He was married, she was engaged. Her mum was ill. His brother...his brother was his brother. 

When he got home he found Meg passed out on the couch, one shoe on and one shoe off. Noel looked away, swallowed down the shame. He went straight upstairs and rang Liam.

"What's the story, Morning Glory?" Liam asked. He sounded like he'd been asleep. It was four in the morning. Noel supposed even Liam needed a night in occasionally.

"You should have gone with me. You missed Paul McCartney."

"I told you I fucking hate those poncy parties, man," Liam said, yawning. "That's your scene."

"I met his daughter, Mary. Well, her and Stella both. But Mary...Jesus, Liam..." He paused there, unsure how to say it.

He needn't have worried, Liam caught on at once.

"What's that tone? You fucked her! Fucking hell, Noel! A Beatle kid," Liam laughed. "I suppose now you think your dick is fucking magic, right?"

"You think my dick is magic," Noel said automatically.

"Too right," Liam agreed.

He stayed on the phone with Liam until he passed out, lulled by the sound of his voice, comforted by the familiarity. His promise never to cross that line again was long forgotten. 

Noel thought he'd get over it once the hangover passed, that he'd lose the feeling something important had happened in that kitchen. That they'd connected in ways that went beyond sex, went beyond silly whispered confidences. He didn't really get over it. He thought he'd turn the whole experience into an epic tune, sing about what she meant to him. Except he wasn't sure what she meant to him. And how do you write a song for a girl whose father is a fucking Beatle? 

He found himself thinking what if? What if she rang him? What if they met again? What if they fucked again? What would he do then? How would he feel then? And what the fuck would Liam say about it? 

He found he couldn't stop hoping it was her every time the phone rang. He found himself scrambling to the phone before Meg could answer, like the worst adulterous prick. The worst part was he didn't feel guilty at all. Ages passed and Mary didn't ring him. He wondered if her mam had passed. Or if not, maybe she was in America with her and wanted to call but couldn't. Maybe she'd married that fiancé of hers. Maybe she regretted what happened between them.

Whenever he thought of that evening with her, it felt more and more like a strange beautiful dream. And then, just when he'd nearly convinced himself it hadn't happened at all, she did ring.

"Never have I ever had a one night stand," Mary said once she'd heard his voice.

"Mary," he said, trying to suppress the excitement in his voice.

"I still can't drink," she said. "I still haven't ever had a one night stand."

"Oh? Haven't you?" Noel asked.

"No, I haven't, " Mary said firmly.

"What would you say happened the other night, then?"

"I'd say I'm dying for a smoke..."


	2. Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The thing about Noel was she never thought about him. And then she thought of him for hours."
> 
> Mary deals with her mother's death and the aftershocks of her encounter with one Mancunian guitarist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic...I wasn't planning on doing a whole thing...I mean I thought about what might happen.  
> Anyway. Here you go. More Noel and Mary...

Mary could remember the day John Lennon died. She had been eleven and she'd come home from school to find her mother in the kitchen cooking sausages in a pan. She can't remember Dad eating sausages before that day or since. She knew, without being told, that this was an exception. She remembered the strange smell of them and the guilty expression on Mum's face. How Dad sounded on the phone. He had his scary voice on, the one he used for business and serious interviews. Mary was young, but she already knew how to recognise the subtle shift in Dad's voice. That coolness, the slightly prissy diction. Like anger made him more posh. 

Mum set the plate of sausage and mash in front of him and he nodded distractedly, looked up at Linda like she wasn't even real. Two things were fixed in Mary's head that day: that meat smelled of death and despair and that Dad lost a part of himself when John died. It was like he was less himself. Like tea with too much water in it. 

The days before Mum died passed in a blur. How was that even possible? She remembered the smallest details of that day in December. The scratchy woolen tights she had on. The new boots that gave her a blister. Heather had lent her a hairclip. She remembered she'd stolen a sweetie from Stella's stash the night before and she was still cross. She remembered hearing "Imagine" on the radio on the way to school. That stuck with her later on, after she found out what had happened. 

She went riding. That was what she did in Arizona. She tried not to say anything too doom and gloom to Mum. They spent a week in Santa Barbara, the whole family pretending everything was normal. Dad hovered near Linda at all times, jealously rationing out hours with her. It was a relief to return to Arizona after days of fake enjoying herself.

When Mary was alone she called Alistair in London. She asked him to tell her about normal things. The weather. Who he'd seen out and about. He'd been to one of those Primrose Hill parties, he said. Jude Law and Sadie Frost. It wasn't his usual thing, but a mate had dragged him along. He'd seen Kate Moss of course. 

Noel Gallagher lived directly opposite to Jude and Sadie. Everyone knew that. Did you see him? Mary considered asking. How did he look? Was he with his wife? It wasn't that she particularly cared. Not really. She was just bored and anxious here. Thinking about him took her mind off what was happening with Mum.

"And half of Oasis," Ali said.

"Which half?" 

"Which half?" He laughed. "Aren't they all about the same? Beatles-wannabe louts."

Mary laughed mechanically. She was peeling apples for a pie, the phone jammed under her chin. She thought about asking outright when all at once he burst out, "Oh! The short brother! The guitarist. It's funny because when my mate introduced me as your fiancé he gave me the strangest look...I remember James said he's worked with your Dad before. What's it...a cover song with Weller and someone else in '95. Charity thing. Paul said he was so hungover tequila was coming out of his pores."

"Oh?" Mary said coolly. 

"Noel! That's the one. He asked about Linda."

She didn't know how to feel about that. She spent the rest of the phone call biting her tongue, trying not to ask for more details. She'd copied his number from her arm on to a post-it. _Gal_ , she'd printed in small letters above the number. She kept it in her makeup bag. Of course the one time she tried calling, Meg picked up and she lost her nerve and hung up again.

Mum asked about Alistair. One of the last talks they managed before it was all over. Dad was in the room pretending to adjust the Venetian blinds. 

"It's normal to have second thoughts, you know," Linda said. "Dad was a mess the day before. He ran off in the middle of the night in floods of tears and I thought maybe there was someone else."

"But there wasn't," Dad muttered. 

"Well...I knew your heart belonged to another when we met," Linda said mysteriously. "But it all worked out, didn't it?"

Dad nodded, beamed at her fondly. Mary had a sudden flash of James and Sean Lennon, high as fuck.

_"And then eight days later John marries Yoko. Like...eight fucking days later."_

"Our Mary is quite the heartbreaker," Dad was saying slyly. 

"Don't be a silly billy," Mary said. 

"I'm not...what's his name at Bertie's party?"

"Oh?" Linda asked, wrinkling her brow. Her lashes and eyebrows had grown back so fine you could barely see them. "Who is this?"

"I'm so bad with names," Paul lamented.

Sure you are, Mary thought. You know very well what his name is.

"Cute?" Linda asked.

"Was he?" Paul asked.

"Who?" Mary asked.

"The Mancunian guitarist."

"Sounds like a film," Linda laughed. 

"I'm sure poor Alistair isn't at all amused," Paul said a trifle tartly.

Mary glared. "He has nothing to worry about."

"Oh…" Linda sighed. "Northern and a musician. My favourite."

Paul scowled at her. "You're no help."

"Let her have her fun. She's not married yet."

"She is standing right here," Mary said. "She is getting married next month, northern musicians be damned."

Then the phone rang and Paul left the room to answer it. Linda sighed in relief. 

"Finally," she said. "Details."

Mary tried to convince her it wasn't anything, just a bit of flirting at a party, but Linda could still read her like a book. 

"Oh," she waved her hand at Mary. "He's on the phone with his lawyers. He'll be gone for ages. Cute? Funny? Good kisser?"

"Blue eyes, dark hair," Mary said after a moment's hesitation. "Mmmmm…very funny. Clever…"

Linda sighed contentedly. "Don't listen to Dad. He's such a hypocrite sometimes. But he means well. If you want to marry Alistair, marry Alistair. He's a good guy. But if you want to see where this takes you…or both, really, " Linda mused.

"No," Mary said firmly. "There's nothing to see. It's all set. We're getting married in four weeks."

"Alright. Nothing to see...Funny and cute...Name?"

"Noel," Mary said before she could stop herself. 

"Nice name."

Mary shrugged. It was a nice name.

"Good kisser?" Linda repeated the question, a sly smile on her lips.

"Mum!" Mary laughed in fake outrage.

"So, yes. That's a yes."

Dad caught her after dinner and offered her the joint he was smoking. She took it warily. 

"Mum is looking forward to seeing you get married," he said. "I think somehow that's what she's been holding on for." 

"I think Mum wants me to do what I want to do. You know, considering you enjoy keeping the truth from her, you're awfully quick to tell her things she doesn't need to know." She took a slow drag. "Besides, I _am_ getting married. Next month."

"Stella asked me about Noel Gallagher. After the party."

Mary took another drag off the joint. "Sounds like Stella has a crush on Noel Gallagher," she said dryly. "Or maybe you do."

"You've been off for weeks. Ever since…"

"Maybe ever since my dad decided not to tell my mum the truth," she said sharply. 

"He's...he's...different...a different class of...complicated in a way, you know...you can't understand. We didn't raise you like that."

"Oh, you didn't raise me like that? Fuck Noel Gallagher. I don't give a toss about him." She shoved the joint back into Paul's hand and went up to her room. Dad could be such a snob. She wondered what he meant by complicated.

The thing about Noel was she never thought about him. And then she thought of him for hours. She tried to recall every detail from that night. The exact feeling of his skin on hers. How it felt to lie with her head heavy on his chest. The scent of the hair there. She wondered what it would be like to be in love with him. More importantly, what it would be like if he were in love with her. Sometimes she half convinced herself that's what was going on. She imagined his arms around her. She could hear him whisper in her head, that rough accent in that soft voice. She couldn't recall what his singing voice sounded like. Maybe she'd never consciously heard him sing at all. She turned on some music channel on the telly once hoping to see Oasis, but no luck. 

Eventually she realised what was going on. It wasn't about him at all. It was about Linda. Mary could still remember every last detail of the day John Lennon died. 

"It felt like the end of the world," Heather had said. "Like a part of the world ended forever."

When Mum died it felt like a dream. Mary didn't cry, she washed the dishes and folded her clothes. She lifted the jumper Mum had worn on her last ride out to her face, inhaled. She put it back in the closet like Mum was going to get up in the morning and put it on, take her favourite horse out for a ride. 

Dad was a mess. He slept for a day. Then he got up and ate a piece of toast, made some phone calls and went back to bed. Mary was amazed at how calm he sounded on the phone, how in control. As soon as he was done talking he collapsed in a chair like a balloon with the air let out of it. James tried to get him to drink some water at least. With all the crying he was dehydrated. Stella called Uncle John Eastman, talked about funeral arrangements. It felt absurd. Like playing a part. After tea, Mary and Stella sat out back, sharing a cigarette in silence. 

"Are you cross with me?" Stella asked after a while.

"Why?" Mary asked. 

There were so many stars out, the sky was indigo. The stars had always been there, as long as Mary had been on this planet. Longer. And until today, so had Mum. 

"Because I asked Dad about...you know…"

For a moment Mary didn't know what she was talking about. Then she remembered. She wondered why Stella was so stuck on this. She shook her head, just one jerky tilt to the side like she was shaking away a fly. Stella put her arm around her, squeezed gently. They didn't have to speak, they sat there thinking about Mum until the sun came up. 

The house in London was a mess. They'd left for Arizona in a rush and every room felt crammed with clutter, covered in a silver film of dust. Mum's stuff was everywhere: hair ties, slippers, jumpers. Cameras and books. James was trying to sort through some of her things, separating everything into piles of things to keep, things to dump, things to donate. Dad awoke from his stupor long enough to argue with James over a stiff looking designer bag Linda had gotten as a gift and hated. James shouted Dad didn't get a vote, he still owned clothes from before his Beatle days, then he called Mary to mediate. 

In the end she moved in. Alistair was good about it, of course. He agreed they should postpone the wedding for a few months till things settled a bit. No one was in the mood to celebrate. He'd loved Linda too and was heartbroken over her passing. He didn't understand, though. How could he? They were close-knit and strange, the McCartneys. Sean had once remarked that he thought all of them had that strangeness, all the Beatle families. Like they were an own tribe. Then he realised the McCartneys were something else entirely. 

"It's like you're not even separate people," Sean said. "And we Ono Lennons wrote the book on codependency."

They were separate people. They were. It was hard to explain. They needed each other more than other families did maybe. That's why James was at Cavendish making sure Paul slept and ate and changed his socks. And why Mary told her fiancé to concentrate on the film he was making so she could sort through Linda's scarves and sunglasses. 

She wasn't sleeping well and she got up in the middle of the night to clean the kitchen, found a couple of drawers full of recipes scrawled on bits of paper. She put them all into boxes to sort them later. Here she made cupcakes with Mum and she let her lick the bowl of raw cake batter. Here she sat at the table and drew pictures while Mum fiddled with new recipes and told her stories about growing up in Scarsdale. Here Dad sat writing lyrics and drinking endless cups of tea. Mary poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the floor under the huge kitchen table. If she looked up she might catch a glimpse of Linda taking a tray of cookies out of the oven. 

She sipped her wine and hugged her knees. Never have I ever lost my mother. She didn't cry. It was like that part was broken. Dad had used every handkerchief in the house and Mary's eyes were bone dry. 

Alistair came over and helped her sort through clothes. He kept asking if she was certain she wanted to get rid of things. Maybe it was too soon. She finally told him he didn't need to help her, she'd be faster on her own. He wanted to though, of course he did. Again and again he asked her what he could do for her. 

"Give me my mum back," Mary said.

It wasn't his fault. He couldn't help. He couldn't stay here and cook and clean for Dad, listen to his regrets. He couldn't flip the switch that would let Mary finally cry.

James brought over a stack of tabloids claiming they'd assisted Linda's death. There had been some confusion about where she'd actually died. On holiday in Santa Barbara, in Arizona, London, perhaps? Why so secretive? What were they hiding?

"Fucking press," Stella hissed. "Cause it's none of their fucking business, that's why so secretive. Vultures."

On the cover was a picture of Linda at twenty-six, her blonde hair like a golden halo, her eyes squinty in the sun. In the right hand corner of the magazine was a photo of Noel Gallagher holding a bottle of beer and glaring into the camera. "Primrose Hill Excess" the fine print read.

She thought of Noel's telephone number at the bottom of her makeup bag. The way he'd carefully written it on her arm. Her heart contracted. She saw the numbers clear as day before her, she'd memorised the damn thing. Stella threw her a look, turned to the appropriate page. There was a photo of Meg and Noel, their arms wrapped around each other. Noel's face was scrunched up comically, Meg looked cool and possessive. There was a smaller photo of Liam looking so beautiful he didn't seem real.

"Look at those buffoons," Ali laughed lightly. 

Mary felt her stomach twist in uncharacteristic anger. "Why don't you clear the table so we can eat?" 

Alistair went home after they ate. He tried to get her to come with him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressed his nose to her hair. 

"James has got this," he said. "I'll take care of you a bit. You can rest. You don't have to be in control all the time."

James was spooning chocolate pudding into bowls. "Got it," he confirmed. Then he looked up at Mary guiltily. She didn't want to rest. She didn't want to lose control. She wanted to scrub this whole house from top to bottom. Then she wanted to drink until she stopped feeling like this. There wasn't enough drink in the world.

When Ali had gone James slunk over, round-shouldered and a little red with embarrassment. "Is something going on with you two? Heather will be arriving tomorrow. Then you can have a break. Spend some time with him. It must be hard having to put the wedding on hold."

"Yeah, maybe." 

James' mouth gave a little quirk. She didn't have to tell him what she was feeling. She knew he understood. She didn't know why she was angry with Alistair. He was perfect, caring, a sweetheart. He wanted to be there for her. All she could think was she was angry at the unfairness of it all. And no amount of hugging and crying on his shoulder was going to fix it.

She waited till James went up to bed to call Noel. She didn't realise how much she'd wanted to hear his voice until she heard it. It felt like the first cool drink of water in a long stretch of desert.

He wanted to get a hotel room. And that was just fine with her. When he said it she felt a wave of relief wash over her because of course that's what she wanted. Needed. 

"It's only because...well, if we meet anywhere else the paps will be right there sticking their nose in it. I hope...I'm...it's very presumptuous, isn't it? Just...we couldn't have a proper conversation in public."

Mary smiled. "Proper conversation? Is that what you want?"

"Yes," Noel said. "Yes...yes...I hoped you'd ring me. Then I figured you fucking washed your arm when you got home that night and...then I read about your mum…"

She leaned her head against the wall, sighed. "Yeah." She didn't want to talk about her mum. She wanted him to distract her. She wanted to feel what she felt in Bertie's kitchen. That they were the only two people in the world.

"I'm...I...I was sorry to hear it," he said.

She was silent for a very long time. He didn't say a thing, waiting for her to speak. She could hear him light a cigarette and inhale. 

"Thank you," she said at last. "I wanted to ring you. I was in Arizona and California, then back in Arizona. Lots of time with the family. I wasn't alone much."

She wanted to tell him about Meg answering the phone, about how her heart hammered in her breast like she was a dumb teenager. She wanted to tell him how she'd thought of their encounter so many times since it happened. She'd turned it over and over in her head, till it was smooth as a piece of beach glass. That was stupid, though. 

"I wish you had," Noel said. 

"What then?"

"Then…" He laughed nervously. "Ahh...in my head I was much cooler during this conversation."

They agreed on a day to meet and a hotel. He'd make all the arrangements, all Mary had to do was show up. She said she felt like a character in a spy film. He said he'd register under the name Austin Powers. They ended the call awkwardly, Noel stuttering out, "Night night". Only then did Mary remember that it was the middle of the night. She lay in the bed she'd slept in as a child, her skin humming with excitement. _See where this takes you._ She heard Linda's voice in her head. That was exactly what she intended to do.

It took her forever to get ready on the day. She chose a trenchcoat of Linda's and huge dark sunglasses to fit the theme. She put on a lipstick Stella had left behind and then thought better of it, went back in to wash it off. Heather had arrived a few days earlier and she was in the kitchen, sipping coffee, smoking a cigarette and reading the papers. For a split second Mary thought she was Linda. She waved Mary over.

"You look nice," Heather said. 

"Work meeting," Mary lied. "Shouldn't be too long."

"Take your time. I'm here."

Heather reached out, squeezed Mary's hand. Heather's eyes were swollen and red. She envied her ability to cry.

Mary arrived late, her stomach doing uncomfortable flips. When he opened the door to let her in, the relief on his face was so obvious she had to laugh. She stepped inside, shut the door behind her.

"Thought you changed your mind," he said.

She shook her head. He was just standing there blinking, his hands slack by his sides. He looked good, his hair looked like he'd just had it cut. He was wearing a charcoal coloured long-sleeved polo shirt and blue jeans. Around his neck he wore a silver chain hung with a large crucifix and what she assumed was his wedding band. She couldn't remember seeing it in Bertie's kitchen. She wondered if he'd just thrown on the next best thing or if he'd agonised over his clothing like she had. He had a very deliberate air about him. It was flattering, her stomach felt warm with it. She'd finally settled on a black skirt and snug grey cardigan and her tall suede boots. When she took off her coat she looked like she was attending a funeral. He took it from her, hung it up and turned back to look at her as though he was afraid she might vanish if he let her out of his sight for too long.

She took a step closer, leaned in to kiss his cheek, she could smell his shaving cream. She put her hand on his shoulder, his hand hovered over her waist as if they were about to dance.

"Hello again," Mary murmured. 

"Hello," he said. 

She couldn't quite read his expression. He seemed almost shy, his eyes flicking over her, then away. 

"Come in," he said. "I paid for the whole room, not just the doorway."

Laughing softly she took his hand, pulled him into the room. It was a good room, she supposed, she'd spent her childhood in places like this. The carpet was thick and burgundy. There was a rather large bathroom to the left, a wall of closets to the right. A desk against the wall right beside the window. The drapes were shut, heavy brocade threaded with gold. The bed was king-sized with crisp, blindingly white Irish linen sheets.

"You paid for the whole room?" Mary said, all wide-eyed, a sly smile playing on her lips. "And everything in it?"

"Almost everything…" Noel began. He took her by the wrist and spun her close. "All the furniture and that. And the minibar. I mean...not everything…"

She put her mouth to his, not quite kissing him, just brushing her lips against his. He held her hand to his chest and she could feel his heart beating so fast. "Fucking hell," he murmured and kissed her for real.

She leaned into him, dizzy with longing and he put his arms around her. It felt exactly right, exactly what she needed. When they broke apart, breathless and beaming, he laughed a bit. 

"You know how sometimes you blow something up in your head? Like...like a fucking pudding you ate as a kid that tasted fucking amazing. Or a film you watched that was just…" he made an explosive sound of awe, "...then you watch it again as an adult and…" He shrugged.

Mary smiled at him. "That's what this is like? A pudding or a childhood film that just doesn't live up to memory?"

He shook his head seriously and then took hold of her chin and kissed her again. She curled her hands into his shirt, pulled it up. She bent, rubbed her cheek against his chest hair. It was better than she remembered.

"Not even a drink first?"

"Do you want a drink?" she asked.

"Fuck no," he admitted.

She pushed him onto the smooth cool sheets and stood there looking down at him for a moment. 

"See something you like?" he asked.

Mary tilted her head. "Maybe," she said.

She pulled up her skirt, climbed right on top of him, straddling him.

"Maybe?" he pouted. 

She loved his mouth. She'd spent ages in Arizona, dreaming of sucking on that sulky bottom lip. She did so now. He moaned, his arms came around her. She felt his hardness through the lycra of her tights.

"Definitely," she sighed. She got to work on his belt, pulling it open awkwardly.

She'd waited long enough. 

Heather, a chainsmoker, once described the moment before smoking your first cigarette of the day. "It's like you need it. Like your nerves are rubbed raw. You're anxious, on edge. Then you just give in and smoke it and it's alright. It's all alright now. It feels like you can take on the day."

That's how this felt. Like she couldn't wait any longer. She needed to feel alright. She needed this. Noel struggled to sit up, pulled at the buttons of her cardigan.

"Mary," he said softly. "Wait…" 

She kissed him again, rubbed at his stiff cock before working down his zipper. His hand closed over her breast, over the lace of her bra under her chemise. She tried to free his cock and struggled to pull down her tights at the same time. 

"Your boots," he said, laughing and reaching for the zipper. "You need to...Mary, take off your boots first…"

He managed to work the zipper down on one boot and she bent down to strip off one leg of her tights and one side of her knickers and fling the boot off her foot to the floor.

"Fuck it," she muttered and slid onto his cock, one boot on and one boot off.

He took hold of her hips, held on as she rode him hard. They were out of sync, out of breath. He looked like he didn't know what hit him. He watched her, lashes fluttering, mouth agape, slid a hand over the curve of her arse. She liked how he looked as though he was trying and failing to cling on for dear life. She rocked against him, close to climaxing, just a breath away from it. Noel tilted his hips upward, mouthed her name deliriously and everything was hot and cold and gloriously numb. She slumped forward against him and he held her tight, thrust up into her from below. He came inside her, his head tilted back, almost lolling off the edge of the bed.

After a while she rolled off him and pulled him back onto the bed properly. He whinged a bit like a cat woken from a nap.

"You'll get a stiff neck," she explained.

She took a good look at him lying there all out of breath, still entirely clothed with his wet dick peeking out. She looked even better: her skirt bunched around her waist, one leg of her tights limp and damp like the empty skin of a freshly molted snake. She started to laugh so hard she couldn't breathe and he laughed with her. That's what it was about him, she realised. His laugh. That's why she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. For all his bitter, sometimes sharp humour, he liked a good laugh, he did it freely. She was in love with the sound of it. 

"I'll have that drink now," she said, unzipping her other boot and kicking off her tights. 

She could feel his come starting to seep out of her and hopped out of bed, dropping a kiss on his knee.

"Order me a Singapore Sling, will you?"

She ducked into the bathroom, sat down on the toilet and peed. This was the third time they'd fucked without protection. It occurred to her she didn't know that much about him, really. He might have a different partner every night. He and Meg were into those swinger parties, if she believed the papers. She didn't. She stretched her legs, there was a fresh bruise on her thigh.

"Are you hungry? I could murder a basket of chips," Noel called out.

"Alright," Mary said. 

She flushed the toilet and climbed into the tub to wash up. She could hear Noel on the phone ordering their drinks and food from room service. She dried off and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were very red, her lips bee-stung, her silk chemise was showing but she didn't bother rebuttoning her cardigan. Noel slipped into the bathroom after her.

"What the fuck was that?" He put his arms around her waist, nuzzled her neck.

"Sex," Mary said matter of factly. "Pretty good, I thought. Complaints?"

"No. No. None. God…" he said, his lips brushing her ear. 

Mary pulled away and sat down on the toilet lid. 

"So...I'm engaged to be married."

Noel leaned against the sink and eyed her warily. "Yes, you are."

"I don't do a lot of this. Generally. I mean, never."

"A lot of...sleeping around?" He looked supremely uncomfortable.

"Right...right...I mean… just you…One does read a bit about...you know…"

"Sex, debauchery, super models?"

"Exactly."

His lips quirked upwards. "Lies. I mean...just her and…"

"Me?" Mary asked just as he pointed at her awkwardly.

"It's not...with her...it's not…" He looked away, chewed on his thumbnail. "We're not…" He stopped there and knelt down on the tiled floor in front of her, his hands on her knees.

"You're not…" Mary prompted.

"We're not...often intimate…" he finished. "What do...what...I want to...what I'm trying to say is. I thought about this. I thought about you. I don't want to seem...as though this is something I do all the time and that. Because it isn't."

Mary studied his face. His blue eyes were bloodshot. He was chewing on his bottom lip. His hands tightened on her knees. A knock on the door announced the arrival of their order. She stayed in the bathroom and washed her face while he answered the door.

They drank their cocktails in bed and ate their chips. Mary asked him what he'd been up to all this time, other than thinking about her.

"That's it," Noel said with a sly sidelong glance at her. "Just thought of you. Day in, day out."

Mary shoved a chip into his mouth. "Sure. Liar." She couldn't suppress her grin, though. 

"I noodled around a bit with some tunes. Relaxed. You know…"

"Partied hard."

"Semi-hard. I met your...at Jude and Sadie's...I ran into…"

"Ali...Alistair," Mary finished. 

"He seems like a good guy," Noel said carefully.

"He is."

He didn't deserve this, Mary thought. She pushed the guilt away hurriedly.

"Pretentious wanker," Noel muttered. He grabbed his cocktail and slurped it through the brightly coloured straw.

Mary laughed. "Sometimes. When it comes to his work. I think I read somewhere...who was that said Oasis was the best band in the world?"

"Fuck if I know? Probably our kid."

She rolled her eyes at him. She supposed it should have felt wrong talking about her fiancé with him but it didn't really. Alistair belonged to a separate part of her life. The part of her life where she cooked all of Dad's meals, the part of her life where Mum was gone forever. Noel plucked the umbrella from his drink and stuck it behind her ear like a flower, stroked her chin with his thumb.

"He told me about meeting you. He said you asked about…" she paused there as if frozen. Linda. He'd asked about Linda.

"I asked after your mum. Was that wrong?" he asked.

Mary shook her head. "It was sweet of you."

Noel smiled shyly and shrugged. "I wanted to ask him why you hadn't rung me."

"You should have done," Mary said with mock seriousness.

"I thought about giving him my number. In case you'd lost it," he said. She couldn't tell if he meant it or not.

She flicked her finger at his thigh and he grasped her wrist, pulled her against him. She shut her eyes, waited for him to kiss her. When a few moments had passed without it happening she opened them again and found him studying her face.

"Is this an affair?" he asked.

She'd wanted to meet him once. Wanted to feel him inside her. She'd wanted him like the antidote to a poison. To exorcise him from her mind. Maybe to get on with her life, to get back to Ali once she'd gotten it out of her system.

"Is it?" she asked in turn.

He rubbed his thumb against the inside of her wrist and then kissed her at last. They managed to remove all their clothes the second time. After, they lay in each other's arms, the sweat cooling on their skin. Mary felt so wonderfully heavy, so wonderfully grounded. Like she was a ship and he was her anchor. 

"I want it to be," Noel said, brushing the damp hair out of her face. 

"Want what to be?" Mary asked.

His necklace hung over her face and she touched the tip of her tongue to the circle of his wedding ring.

"It to be...I want to see you again. I...an affair. Say you'll see me again." 

So she did.

Mary thought she was pretty clever. She went home and sorted through Linda's things, and met with the lawyers regarding mum's charities. She made some effort to be extra sweet to Alistair. She listened to him talk about his film project for hours. Noel's words echoed in her head: pretentious wanker. She quashed them at once. Alistair took his work seriously, he was good at it. There was nothing wrong with that. She encouraged him to get away a bit, film on location. 

"I'll be here all the time, up to my elbows in family stuff. Heather and I are tackling the recipes next," she explained. She felt like the world's biggest jerk.

He wasn't an idiot, Ali, he could see she was pushing him away. He didn't know why though.

She managed a few rushed phone calls with Noel, usually late at night. He suffered from insomnia, and she couldn't get a moment alone until everyone had settled down. She called him from Dad's office, sat down behind his cluttered desk with her feet up on the heavy chair upholstered in leather. The sound of Noel's hello was so thrilling she felt a shiver ripple through her. He usually got straight to the point. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He needed to see her.

"What parts are you thinking about?" she asked. 

"All the parts."

"Be more specific."

She put her head down on a stack of magazines.

Noel thought about it for a while before answering.

"I think about your smile. Quite cheeky, your smile. I think about your teeth."

"My teeth?" Mary laughed.

"Yes. You're...you're fucking perfect, right? You're...a goddess...but your teeth...bit crooked, aren't they?"

"Wanker," Mary said.

"No. They're fucking fantastic. I think about your...your…"

"My what?" Mary urged.

"Your legs. Killer, " he said, voice thick with awe. He paused there for effect before continuing. "You've got a scar on one knee. I meant to ask you when you got it."

"Rollerskating. When I was seven."

Heather was supposed to be watching her but she was off smoking instead.

"I think about your…"

"My what?" Mary pressed, her voice came out low and a trifle breathy.

"Yes. That," he admitted. "Fuck...is this one of them dirty phone calls? You're a bad girl." 

"I'm not. I'm a nice girl," she insisted. 

He laughed breathily. "Mary, you practically violated me the other day. Didn't bother taking me clothes off."

"So?" she asked. "You loved it." 

"Yeah."

She wanted to know if he was hard but she didn't quite dare initiate phone sex while sitting at Dad's desk.

"Do you think about me?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes," she said simply. 

"What parts?"

She thought about his blue eyes, sharp but also kind. His crooked nose. She thought about his mouth. She thought about the long line of his throat when he threw his head back to laugh.

"I'll tell you what...I'm no good at talking about it. I'll show you."

She gave him the address of a flat Dad kept for visitors and they worked out a date. She had some vague idea that she wanted to take his photograph because flipping through tabloids these days he often looked puffy and awkward, hungover, uncomfortable. He looked like he thought he didn't belong there, hobnobbing with the stars. She wondered if he bought into the idea that his brother was the good looking one. Mary wanted to show him what she saw. When he arrived that afternoon, carrying a guitar case she thought, perfect.

The flat was very small and very simply decorated. Mary could only recall being in here a handful of times. There was a barely functional kitchen, a living room/dining room area with a fantastic old fireplace. The bedroom was tiny and a little dark. The rest of the flat had gorgeous lighting, very sunny. Perfect for photos. She'd chosen to meet him here because it was private, but the lighting was a welcome bonus. Mary would have improved the flat by adding a load of potted plants. There was a photo of her with Dad on the mantelpiece. Dad was hanging from a beam like a monkey, bearded and scruffy, happy. She was a tiny thing, barely able to stand. Noel stood in front of the photo staring at it. Then he turned to face her and smiled. 

"You going to give me a little concert?" Mary asked, angling her chin at his guitar case.

"Promised I'd run a few new tunes by Liam after," he explained. "Thinks I ought to include him more, the cunt." He rolled his eyes, but Mary could hear the affection in his voice.

She made them some tea while Noel browsed the bookshelves and the small collection of CDs. He put on Pink Floyd’s "Wish You Were Here".

"Milk and sugar?" she called out.

Paul kept the kitchen stocked with a few non-perishable food items. Canned beans, crackers, cocktail cherries, single serving creamer.

"Yeah."

When she brought him his mug of tea he was sitting right on the edge of the couch with his legs together like he was visiting his grandmother and was about to be quizzed on his progress at school. Mary handed him the mug, laughed. 

"You look terrified," she said with a smirk. "I thought you were dying to see me."

"I was...I am…" He laughed nervously. "It's different like this. More serious, like…"

"Bad?"

He took a sip of tea and shook his head. She sat down beside him and he took her hand, ran his thumb over her knuckles. She wanted to kiss him but she wanted to take his picture more. 

"That yours?" he asked, waving his hand at the camera she'd left hanging on the back of a chair. 

Mary nodded. It was the 35mm Leica Mum had given her when she told her she wanted to be a photographer. She remembered what Mum said when she gave it to her, when she asked her what her secret was.

"I take pictures of things I'm passionate about. That's it."

Noel crossed and recrossed his legs. 

"You going to use it on me?" he asked, tilting his head back and fluttering his eyelashes.

"Yes."

She untangled her fingers from his to fetch the camera.

"Do you want me to strip?" he joked.

"Not just yet."

"I have...I mean...this girl...took nudes of me ages ago," he informed her. "In San Francisco."

There was a little smirk on his lips, his eyes were very bright. He looked like a naughty kid bragging about all his cool toys. She snapped a shot of his face casually, he blinked in surprise.

"Lucky girl," Mary said.

She wanted him to play her a song. She switched off the stereo and hung back while he lifted the instrument out of the sticker-covered case. It was a sunburst acoustic, mother-of-pearl flowers crawling up one side. She watched him tune it. He played right-handed. She'd never really noticed that.

"You wrote your number on my arm with your left hand," she noted.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm a fucking mystery."

She shot him just sitting there, gazing at her expectantly.

"Do your thing," she said.

He strummed a bit aimlessly at first, then launched into something it took her a moment to realise as a very slow, very poignant version of U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name".

He sat a bit hunched over his guitar, an expression of glowering seriousness on his face. It was something to do with the heavy brows, the lines around his mouth. His shirt was open at the neck. She liked the little shadow there, the hint of chest hair. He switched songs mid-chorus to Neil Young's "Hey Hey, My My" like the tune wasn't working out for him. His voice was stronger, louder, the acoustics weren't bad in the flat. Mary wouldn't put it past Dad to have picked it because of that. Then again, maybe Dad had just instructed an assistant to choose a flat with good acoustics. She managed to catch that split second between the somber sweetness of the U2 song and the echoing confidence of Neil Young. His expression was in stark contrast to the effortless clarity of his voice. He looked like he was in pain but sounded so pure. That was the good stuff. A flash of some deep sorrow he was generally reluctant to reveal. A hint of what she'd glimpsed when he fucked her.

"Do one of yours," she said when the song was done. "Not 'Wonderwall'."

"Oh, fuck, no," Noel laughed. He stretched out his legs, miles more relaxed, leaned his head against the back of the couch. "One of mine," he mused.

It was one she didn't recognise. Light sounding, almost conversational. He rolled his head in the direction of the lense, smiled as he sang. He was flirting with her now, at ease.

_"I've been lost, I've been found but I don't feel down."_

He finished dramatically with a burst of fast, energetic strumming, inclined his head like he was taking a bow.

She snapped him several times, then let the camera fall to her chest, freeing her hands to clap. 

"Encore!" she called out.

He gave her a speculative look, like he might refuse, and then tapped his foot, rushed right into the next song. She knew it at once, after all her father had written it. There was an ease to the way he played now, a sloppiness, his posture loose and playful. She took him from the side, the line of his nose appealed to her, the way he opened his mouth, blew his breath out and vaulted into song. She wondered if he'd chosen this song in advance, somehow, because it was so wonderfully on the nose. Because if he hadn't happened to trip over her that day they wouldn't even be here. 

He batted his eyes at her, shook his head, his accent shifted subtly. He sounded exactly like Dad. Exactly. The cheek!

Mary put the camera down on the table, sat down at his feet. He bent down to sing to her, emphasising the word "'falling". She couldn't help beam up at him in delight, brushed her mouth against his, quick as a flash. He stopped playing abruptly, the strings crunching and squeaking in protest, and gripped her chin in one hand. She pushed herself up on her knees, put her arms around him. And they kissed like that, his guitar trapped between them like the cat in _Breakfast at Tiffany's._

"This is the part where we strip," Mary said.

"Is that right?"

"Yes. Shoes and all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to twinka for the editing ♡♡♡♡♡♡
> 
> Thank you to whereitwillgo for always having time to listen to me go on about this. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who said they enjoyed the fic.
> 
> I'm having the best time writing it! 
> 
> I did a little soundtrack for this chapter:
> 
> Check it out.
> 
> https://savageandwise.tumblr.com/post/642038185425272832
> 
> The thing about the tabloids thinking they assisted Linda's death is real.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, twinka for the editing♡♡♡ you really pushed me to make this better and it's 100% better because of you! As always. 
> 
> There are a few things I mentioned in this fic I thought I should clear up here:
> 
> Paul not telling Linda she was dying after the doctors informed him the cancer had spread:
> 
> https://www.irishexaminer.com/lifestyle/arid-30356512.html
> 
> This always really bothered me because my dad did it to my grandmother. On some level Linda must have known she was dying though. 
> 
> Noel worrying whether or not he'd really love Meg without the drugs:
> 
> "Part of me was thinking how weird it might be..." His voice drops to a whisper. "Well, I was thinking I might not really love her."
> 
> http://supersonicgal.tripod.com/noelesquire.htm


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